


Second Chances

by Squid_Ink



Series: The Eagle and the Cross [55]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Happy Birthday Haytham!, He's three but still..., I've been sitting on this idea since like fucking JULY!, Second Chance, Untiy novel was good though I liked that one, also, as I hate Forsaken with an unholy passion, baby Connor!, but hey! at least I got it posted, sorry it's a date late and a dollar short, using my headcanons for Haytham's past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 20:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8768971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squid_Ink/pseuds/Squid_Ink
Summary: On his 34th birthday, Haytham Kenway is reunited briefly with Ziio. She is also not alone.





	

It was biting cold, much colder than he was use to back in London. At least in London he could get out of the cold, warm up, not feel it's smothering embrace. Here, in the wilds of Massachusetts colony, there was no shelter and the snow drifts could reach up to a man's thigh. Shay and Hickey and insisted on celebrating his thirty-fourth birthday. Shay was so enthused about the idea, and Haytham didn't have the heart to inform the young turncoat that he loathed celebrations.

His birthday only ever reminded him of what he lost. What the Assassins took from him: His father, his mother, his sister.

Their petty preaching of freedom for all of mankind only lead to more death and bloodshed. He believed once, in the Creed, but that was when he was a naïve sophomore, unprepared for the cruelty of the world. The sanguinary barbarism of man, or rather man's lust for it.

Haytham had tactfully removed himself from the celebration to wander the snow covered countryside by himself. He was fortunate that the night was clear, the moon almost full and the stars twinkling overhead. It had stopped snowing an hour ago, the new snow squeak-crunching beneath his feet, every now and then there was a soft _thwump_ of snow falling off an over laden branch. Haytham sighed, taking in the fresh frigid air, allowing peaceful serenity to wash over him. Yes, here… in the expansive wild American wilderness he felt he could finally be at tranquil peace.

Alas, no such peace was to be had that night. He sensed a movement to his left, he narrowed his eyes, the auras popping out in stark contrast to the still moonlit winter night. The person's aura was a befuddled mix of hostile red and friendly blue. Haytham blinked, clearly the auras. A quick glance about told him there was no quick escape. His hand reached for his sword, but the hilt wasn't there. "Blast," he growled, crouching into a fighting stance, "guess I'll have to do this the slightly move difficult way." He flicked his wrists, hidden blades gleaming in the moonlight. Near the base of each blade was the Assassin insignia with a skull in the center.

Whomever was attacking him would rue the day they crossed paths with him. Though now that he thought about it could be Shay. He'd have to talk to Shay sternly, in private about intruding on his walks.

As the approaching figure neared, it took Haytham several moments to realize that it was a woman. A native woman, with twin braids and feathers in her hair, a turtle symbol on her necklace. "What are you doing here? I told you to never come here again! Leave, now! If you want to live!" she ordered, her voice curt, English impeccable.

Haytham released the tension on his hidden blades, and they snicked back into place. He straightened from his crouch and stared baffled at the woman before him. "Z-Z… _Ziio_!"

"Leave!" Ziio insisted. Haytham couldn't help but smile. If only she knew how she plagued his dreams, of all the things he should've told her. How much he loved her. There was only fury in her eyes, and he was the cause of it.

"Ziio, please, give me a chance to explain. I—"

"No, I'm done listening to your lies! You _used_ me to get to my people's sacred site!" Ziio accused. "I loved you, Haytham. I cared about you. I gave myself to you," she gestured to the vast emptiness of the wilds, "and this is how you repay me?"

Haytham's face fell. He heaved a great sigh before looking at her. He was captivated by her golden eyes, so expressive; it was his favorite feature about her. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's true that I did use… your feelings… and I regret it. I cannot discuss my motives with you for doing so—"

"Then, I don't want to hear your apology! Leave! Or I will cut your heart out and feed it to the wolves."

"Ziio," Haytham sighed, he took his hat off and rubbed his hand along his hair. "It's not that simple. I'm bound by a sacred oath to keep… to keep it secret. But believe me when I say that I did… that I _do_ still love you." He held out his hand for her. "It's been three years and… I've missed you."

Ah, the things he'll admit to this woman were astounding. She brought out another side of him that he refused to let others see. To the world he was the stoic, sharp witted, Templar Grand Master, but only for Ziio was he a man.

" _Ista!_ " a piping little voice squeaked. Out from the shadows toddled a child, bundled up in thick fur, amber eyes peering back up at Ziio. " _Ista!_ " the child whined again, reaching for her. Ziio chuckled, and scooped the child up in her arms. Smiling, she tapped her child on the nose. The child grinned, and muttered something in Mohawk. Ziio replied in the same language and kissed her child on the forehead.

"Since when did you have a child?" Haytham asked, confused. There was something vaguely familiar about the child, a certain angle of the jaw perhaps or the wideness of the mouth. Haytham couldn't quiet put his finger on it yet.

"Spring three years ago," Ziio said, pushing the child's dark hair out of his eyes.

"Oh," Haytham said, stamping his feet to keep them warm. "I… I didn't know you were married." He felt embarrassed about falling in love with a married woman. He could hear his father scold him for such actions right now, as if his ghost was nearby.

"I'm not," Ziio said. "I wasn't then either."

"Oh."

"His name is Ratonhnhaké:ton," Ziio said, she looked at him pointedly, "and he's your son."

There was the sound of snow falling off an over laden branch, a wolf howled in the distance, eerie and lonesome. He could hear his own breathing, the beating of his heart; feel the numbing cold seeping into his toes. One by one, the pieces fell into place.

Sultry summer nights, fireflies flickering about, an impromptu swim in a small pond, frogs croaking, her sighs, his groans, the croaking of frogs didn't seem loud enough at the time. He should've seen the signs then, three years ago. Her tiredness, the constant throwing up despite the constant hunger. Yet, for whatever reason he had missed all the signs, and when he had left was there a slight swell to her belly. He would never know. It was a memory he tried to forget, along with that rainy night fifteen years ago to the day. His father's final words, the rain masking his tears, the explosion, the taste of gunpowder on his tongue, Jenny finding him cradling their father's broken body.

"My son," Haytham said. Ziio gave a slight nod of her head. He swallowed again, it was pointless to ask her why she didn't tell him. He knew why. His lust for the cave's secrets the maddening riddle of the medallion still around his neck. His silence about the Templars. Yes, it was wise to keep his son away from such madness. "Well," he said and held out his arms, "give him here then. I want to get a good look at him." He twitched his fingers beckoning.

Ziio frowned and spoke softly to Ratonhnhaké:ton in Mohawk. The boy nodded, a smile on his lips. Ziio sighed before reluctantly handing over her child. Haytham accepted the boy into his arms and held him close.

He could see it now, the marrying of his features and hers within their son's face. He could even see a bit of his father too. Haytham knew then that Ratonhnhaké:ton was like him, the blood of Assassins and Templars flowed through his veins. "Does he… have a nickname?" Haytham asked. He doubted he could say the boy's name, even if he tried. He still couldn't say Ziio's full name, even though she had tried several times.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton is not a difficult name to say," Ziio protested.

"Ziio, I cannot say it, and can barely understand it," Haytham said. "Let me give him a proper English name, please."

"He is _my_ son," Ziio snapped. Haytham shielded the boy from her, anger in his eyes.

"He is mine as well; I am his father. I won't insist that I be involved in his life if you do not wish me to be so, but he deserves to at least have a name of my people. He'll need a name so that the colonists can call him by if he ever interacts with them."

Ziio glowered at Haytham, then looked away. "He's like you isn't he." She phrased the question as statement. "He can see the spirit energy of living things Haytham, you can too… right?" Haytham nodded. "Very well," Ziio said. "Give him an English name."

Haytham stared at the boy for several long moments, tried to figure out a proper name for his son. The first one that sprung to his mind was his father's, but Haytham dismissed it as being cursed. A wolf howled again. The lonesome cry echoing throughout the snowy landscape. "Connor," Haytham said, recalling the legend of Conchobar mac Nessa, an ancient Gaelic King, who had earned the loyalty of the great wolves of Ireland. "Connor Kenway," Haytham said, "yes that'll do."

" _Ista_?" Connor asked, looking over at his mother.

"Haytham Kenway, _raké:ni_ ," Ziio said. Connor brightened at that, and began to babble rapidly in Mohawk and some English. Haytham was surprised Ziio was teaching him.

" _Raké:ni_! _Raké:ni_!" Connor shouted, and hugged Haytham around his neck. Haytham smiled, and hugged his son tightly in return. Connor let him go and Haytham passed him back over to his mother.

"Can I see him again?" Haytham asked.

"I'll think about it," Ziio said. Connor smiled up at him, a cute smile on his face.

"Bye-bye, _Raké:ni_ ," he said, opening and closing his hand. Haytham smiled and waved at his son. Ziio inclined her head to Haytham and began to walk off towards the trees.

"Ziio!" Haytham called, taking a step towards her. She stopped, turning to look back at him. "I love you," he said. He saw her smile in the moonlight, before continuing her journey home. He watched her go, until the darkness swallowed her.

**Author's Note:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft 
> 
> Sorry this was late, but I had a lot of homework to do over the weekend and though I made time for writing, it was mostly Arno/Élise related or I spent it playing Pokémon Moon.
> 
> Apologies if Haytham or Ziio seem a bit OOC, I haven't written them in months, at least not in a canon verse setting. Still don't know when EKGTCR's next chapter will get finished, as I'll shamelessly admit that Assassin's Creed Unity (specifically Arno and Élise) have no bought my soul and own hence forth.
> 
> Anyway, this is for Haytham's birthday.
> 
> Happy Birthday Haytham E. Kenway! December 4, 1725
> 
> Save an author; leave a review!
> 
> Nemo et Nihil


End file.
